


Why Can't a Girl Believe?

by jellytea



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellytea/pseuds/jellytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only man who can put up with Mercedes Griffin on a daily basis is Guitar Dude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Can't a Girl Believe?

**Author's Note:**

> Guitar Dude's name is Casper. AU obviously, and they're in their twenties and he's out of the Palmwoods. And I feel like they would such an awesome pair. Cos nothing fazes Guitar Dude. Nothing. And the fic kind of...spiraled into something different. A little bit more Mercedes-centric that I had anticipated.
> 
> Title is from Leighton Meester's "Somebody to Love."

"Get off that couch and come to brunch. You are being ridiculous and I had to drag my ass to your teeny apartment and I am not leaving until you agree to come out and have mimosas with me," Mercedes snapped, smacking the back of Casper's head with her purse.

He slowly turned around and raised his eyebrow. "Chill, Sadie. You're going to, like, have a stroke if you don't calm down."

Mercedes stared at him. Then she put her hands on her hips and tried out her most withering glare on him. When he didn't do anything except yawn and languidly stretch, she let out an annoyed huff and dropped down into the armchair across from him. She knew it was futile, assuming that all the tricks she used to intimidate and manipulate everyone else in Hollywood would faze him in the slightest, but that didn't stop her from trying.

Four years ago, at the party Carlos and James had thrown, where Logan was acting really weird and trying to date both her and that other girl, where Mercedes had decided that Casper was her new boyfriend, she had thought that he would be like any other boy, who fell at her feet and did whatever she asked because she was Mercedes Griffin. But she quickly found out that he was different.

For one, he was usually stoned, and when he wasn't, he was so laid-back that it seemed like he was stoned anyway. And for another, the first time she had demanded something insane from him - she'd called him at 6 in the morning, wheedling that she needed two gigantic iced sugar-free, soy, vanilla chai lattes in ten minutes - all he'd done was snort and hang up on her. And when she had tracked him down at the Palmwoods pool, ready to scream at him, he was perched on top of a table, lazily strumming his guitar, surrounded by three girls. After she had shoved one girl into the pool, his only response was "Chill." Which had made her speechless.

They stayed boyfriend-girlfriend for about a week and a half, and even though he was the first boy that she felt wholly comfortable with - she wore flats around him, for god's sake - and he was an amazing kisser - she liked to think that his lips were a huge factor in putting up with him - she had promptly dumped him in order to pursue the newest Hollywood eye candy. When she told him that they were breaking up, all he did was shrug and wink at her.

And now he was her closest male friend. Well, "friend" as in a boy that she slept with whenever she was horny, had great conversation with, and was a voluntary participant in her various schemes. Like, today, for instance. She'd decided she was bored and wanted to rile up the paparazzi and online blogs by purposely being seen with the enigma of the music business. (For some inconceivable reason, Casper remained firmly in the middle of the Top 50, even though his albums were just full of guitar strumming and incoherent crooning, and his name always popped up in People's Sexiest Man Alive issue, like clockwork, even though it seemed as if he lived in his worn white v neck and skinny jeans and refused to cut his hair shorter than shoulder-length.) Mercedes hadn't seen or read anything scandalous about herself in the past week, and as the brilliant vice president of Rocque Records and the reigning party girl of Hollywood, it was her civic duty to keep up her reputation as an unpredictable flake.

"Mimosas, huh?" Casper drawled. "Will you be buying?"

"Your album just went platinum. I think you have enough money so you don't to mooch off of me," Mercedes said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, but what's the fun in that?" he grinned.

"Fine. I'll buy. But before we leave, we need to get you changed. It's prime photo time, and I will not be seen with someone who's wearing a bandanna."

  
An hour later, they were perched at a table outside Mercedes' restaurant of choice, squinting in the sunlight and pretending to ignore the paparazzi. They were sitting on the same side of the table, and Mercedes was leaning into Casper's side, his arm comfortably wrapped around her, happily drinking her mimosa.

"So what's the plan for today?" Casper asked, munching on a grape.

"Just to look good and to start some rumors about our relationship," she answered. She titled her head back and looked at his profile. She'd managed to convince him to tie his hair back into a ponytail, and she liked the way it put his face on display. He looked even more brooding, his face more angular. With his aviators in place, he could almost pass for Barnett O'Hara, a Polish model she had seen frequent the same bars and clubs she partied at.

"Yeah?" he asked. He lowered his sunglasses and pursed his lips. "Wanna make out?" She laughed and pressed a kiss to his jaw, rough with stubble.

"Maybe later. After I've devoured this stack of pancakes. Maybe while we check out Rodeo Drive."

"Anything for my lady," he teased, stealing a quarter of her pancake, which started a mini-war. When they'd finished, he threw down some bills to cover the meal, and made fun of her surprised expression. They made their way off the patio, and he tucked her into his side, his hand resting right below her hip. The paparazzi exploded, throwing questions at them as their cameras furiously clicked.

Casper winked at them, stopped in place, and leaned down to kiss Mercedes. Hot and demanding. With his tongue licking the inside of her mouth. And his arms holding her flush against him.

"Good enough?" he whispered as they broke apart.

"Excellent," she smiled, reaching down and pinching his ass. He yelped. "That's what you get for pulling me in a surprise kiss attack," she retorted. "Now. You've successfully distracted me from shopping. Let's get horizontal instead."

"That's a horrible line, Sadie. Never use it again," he said solemnly, shaking his head. "And my place is closer."

  
"God, that was fun," Mercedes said breathlessly, pulling away from Casper and flopping onto her back. She was completely naked, but so was Casper, so she wasn't in the biggest hurry to cover herself back up. She blindly reached out with one hand and patted him on the chest. "Good job."

Casper snorted and Mercedes could feel him shift around in his bed. Then she heard him tapping out a cigarette and flicking on his lighter. It was routine for him to light up after a particularly sweaty round of sex. She turned her head and just looked at him, taking in a long drag and breathing out smoke. When he silently offered the lit cigarette to her, she shook her head.

"Do you realize how bad smoking is for your skin?" And when he gave her this look, she just shoved at his shoulder. Yeah, she was being a hypocrite, considering how much secondhand smoke and weed she'd breathed in from just being with him, but, whatever. As long as she didn't have an actual cigarette in her mouth or bong close to her lips, as long as she wasn't actively doing anything that would cause wrinkles to crop up around her mouth, she was doing her part in preserving the thing of beauty that was her face. 

She turned completely over, so that she was on her side, and propped herself up on one elbow. She lightly trailed her free hand over Casper's chest, over his abs, tracing around his navel. He wasn't overly muscled or tanned, but Mercedes liked that about him. He was different than the carbon copied males that overly populated Los Angeles. He was lean, and she knew he worked out even though he made fun of the gym rats that kept hitting on her while she worked out. He was...familiar. She liked his hard ridges, the flat plane of his stomach, his way his chest and shoulders were a shade lighter than his arms because he rarely took off his shirt outside. She liked how he felt when she had her legs around his waist, when she was gripping his arms, arms that trembled slightly as he held himself above her. She liked how they fit. Not perfectly, but, wow, when they lined up enough so she could feel him hot against her, their hips practically fused together, that was practically enough to send her over the edge.

She poked him in his side when he didn't look over at her.

"Yes?" he drawled, blowing out a puff of smoke into her face. When she glared at him, he laughed, stubbed out the rest of his cigarette, reached over and curled his hand around the back of her neck, bringing her face down close to his. The rest of her body followed, until she was laying on top of him, her blond curls like a soft curtain framing the two of them. He slowly moved his hand from the back of her neck so that he was cupping one cheek, and lightly brushed his thumb back and forth over her cheekbone. She leaned down the few inches they were apart and pressed her lips against his. She loved how he tasted. Of smoke and spearmint gum. She loved how he kissed. All languid and gentle and thorough. She could spend hours just kissing him. (They had, after all, spent the majority of their brief stint as boyfriend and girlfriend four years ago just mauling each other.)

"So we're still doing this?" Casper asked when they drew apart to catch their breaths. His voice was low and he was staring intensely right into her eyes.

"Doing what?" Mercedes asked, a little dazed. It was impossible that she could get a contact high from kissing him when he'd only had a Marlboro, but this was Casper, who probably had pot running through his bloodstream.

"Being friends. Who fuck. No commitment."

"That works better. I can't deal with commitment," she said, a little annoyed. She tried pulling back but he had snaked one arm around her waist, and he just tightened his grip. "Come on, Cass. We've been through this. And anyway, you don't want to deal with me as a permanent girlfriend." She said this jokingly, so that he would quit giving her that look, but he didn't laugh or smirk. He looked at her for a beat longer - she could practically feel him swallow back his response - and then his face relaxed into the familiar, goofy grin that he wore on a regular basis. He blinked and shrugged.

"Fine," he said and Mercedes let out a relieved breath. She lay back on top of him, kissed the tip of his nose, and then rest her head into the crook between his neck and his shoulder.

She couldn't let herself slip into a relationship with him. He knew everything about her, he knew who she was, who she really was, not just the impulsive society girl that everyone thought they had pegged, and he was the only real friend she had. She wouldn't risk giving up that friendship. This was fine. They periodically had sex together - great, mind blowing sex - but then they had their own lives. Separate from each other. That allowed for girlfriends and boyfriends on the side. That proved to the world that Mercedes Griffin had no need for serious entanglements. That there was no need to take Mercedes Griffin seriously.


End file.
